


Unmoored

by chicating



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c., Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-02
Updated: 2012-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-04 17:52:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicating/pseuds/chicating
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anthony Weiner has some things he wants America  to know about his scandal, and his life today.<br/>"Whatever else is going on, first fatherhood can make a man feel unmoored."<br/>-Art Mullen, Justified</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unmoored

Spank your monkey. Beat your meat. Choke your chicken...it makes sense that a man who grew up "Anthony Weiner" would know lots of words for these kinds of things...he's heard all the jokes. Made more than a few of them, too, so the headlines for his little scandalette weren't the most embarrassing part.Although it was hard to square his new image as a disgraced Congressman with the fact that he'd barely touched his own body parts. Hell, even President Carter lusted in his heart. Right? Of all the things he hated most about the scandal(besides the look on his wife's face...then, maybe the look on the Speaker's face) was the new image of him closed up in his office beating off,(or something...who knew what the haters imagined?) like some kind of methamphetamine- crazed rhesus monkey.He wasn't that guy...he'd barely been to a strip club since college. If nothing else, Anthony Weiner was a nice guy. If a little less eager than his parents were for him to find the One and put a ring on it, already. The most amazing thing about Huma was that she was exceptional enough to make him consider it. The second most amazing? That she accepted this congressman who was planning to be a weatherman, and got to achieve things he never even dreamed of. He sort of thought her policy-geek friends thought he was a lightweight even before he became a late-night punch-line, although they were unfailingly polite to his face. 

Sometimes, he hates how they close ranks around Huma as if she is bravely protecting her husband that has some disgusting, possibly fatal, new disease. Sometimes he thinks “You deserve it, you putz,” What the hell, the contradictions, and the baby, fill the days. As far as he knows, they still adore each other, although sometimes that’s easier when it’s just the three of them. New York being New York, though, he also gets to enjoy the occasional man-on-the-street encounter with one of his constituents that just contained wisdom like “You rock!” or “Fucking Breitbart, man!” as well as a few stray shouts of “Pervert!” that it’s still difficult to believe are for him.

The first think Anthony would want America to know is that he always believed his wife to be the most amazing woman he'd ever met. Everyone does. It was hard to admit that that left him very little space to feel amazing himself and how much he liked to feel special.It's not like a man can go to his paragon of a new bride and say "Darling, could you be a little less perfect?" If he had tried, he'd have been a sexist douche, and you know, Weiner stands up for women. Remember? But he loved getting the response from all of his little groupies...it was definitely the best Congressional perk. Even Huma loved it at first, because it made him a much more inventive lover to play out the rescue fantasies of lonely, sexy liberal women across America. When he looks back, his cheeks burn to think how she'd called him a mind reader in the middle of their afterglow for seeming to know what she wanted before she could even ask. At the time, it seemed like another Weiner superpower, like his mastery of the sound-bite .It was the first time he felt like the captain of the football team. Since it seemed like he was leading the Donkeys to some kind of national championship, he began to feel that the rules didn't apply.

Then Huma started traveling. He knew she would, of course ,working for Mrs. Clinton, and it seemed like no problem to Skype every night. As anyone who watched the scandal play out probably remembers, he had little instinct for technology,in addition to being a terrible liar, and their Skype sessions vanished in a sea of technical difficulties. He would never say this part out loud because it would seem like trying to curry favor with the women of the jury or something, but once they lived together He couldn't sleep without hearing her deep, even breath and the fragments of dreams she’d sometimes mumble out of nowhere. It seemed like, rather than Skype, he really wanted some sort of baby monitor to connect between the district, Washington, and whatever trouble spot Huma was in that week. The lack of sleep meant he often came to the House Chambers feeling hollow-eyed and exhausted, but when he got there, the work picked him up. He was in fucking Congress, man, and it was beautiful…who would rather be a consultant than do the people’s work? And to think, he’d pictured himself the Jewish Willard Scott, or maybe Joel McHale…of all the people that upset him with their reactions, by the way, Jon wasn’t one. He did what they always agreed they would do, although the terrain of scandal and constant attention seemed far away when the two media-conscious young men made their agreement. It seemed like a bigger deal at the time that they’d hugged hard and looked into each other’s eyes, thereby ensuring a minor skirmish to see who could come up with the best gay burn of the other. Jon won. Jon always won, because he could be cool and incisive the way Tony never mastered. Obviously, right? But Jon always appreciated Tony’s willingness to get in there and keep swinging. Till he didn’t. Tony wants that back, but they are phone friends now, talking sometimes when the kids keep them up. It’s lovely, but so careful. They are both very careful of unpacking those few weeks of baggage in a way that Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra, say, would never be. Frank would just say “What are you, some kind of freak?” and Dean would say it was good for Frank’s ratings. Sometimes, being a modern man was tiring. So many feels, as his internet cohort might say.

Another thing he wants America to know? He really enjoyed serving them, answering their questions...all of that .The other stuff? The pissing contests with his name-brother Boehner? Well, okay, he misses it a little, now, but at the time, it was just something else to push out of his mind while reading some young woman's dirty story and holding himself in his hand. But, at least, afterward he could sleep. Sometimes deeply...if he didn't ponder himself regressing, polluting his dirty socks like a high-school boy looking for hair on his palms...what the hell was he doing? Then, as if he were as young as he felt, he stupidly raised the stakes. He'd told one of the ladies…does it make it better or worse that he isn't sure which? Because, on the one hand, that does seem like a lot of women-not-his-wife to fantasize about, but on the other hand, that proves that he was not obsessed with any of them. The fact remained though, that he’d gotten hard enough to cut glass while thinking of her. And vain enough to think she’d find it a compliment. He had, but it was more a feature of his second childhood than anything individual. Maybe he should have gone back to keeping a math book in front of it.

If only he'd known what a generic invitation "Pics or it didn't happen!" was. Now, too late, he knows that it’s just something young people say. That if there had been cameras and twitter feeds during the Constitutional Convention, after ratification, there’d be some smart-aleck posting “Pics or it didn’t happen,” at the thought of the United States being a constitutional democracy. But then, it seemed like the height of erotic invitation, the kind of sensual push-and-pull that little Tony Weiner who took forever to hit his growth spurt thought only happened in movies and TV. Invitation to what?

The stupid part is, he didn’t even know. He certainly had no intention of booking her a plane ticket and a room at the Watergate, although a blurry porn movie ran through his head at the thought of it. The fact that getting a blow job in his office would be the worst thing he could do sometimes made it the hottest thought in the world, but less so when Huma wouldn’t entertain his intern fantasy. It made sense, he supposed, his wife worked at Ground Zero for that particular thought, but it was that fantasy he employed while getting ready for his closeup. A beautiful blonde with Huma’s brain and full mouth concentrating all that diplomatic energy on his cock. It’s not a colossus, not that he spent much time comparing before all of America got to see it, but let’s just say, it finally went through its growth spurt too. If people could see it on a purely aesthetic basis, he had little to be embarrassed about. It wasn’t until he came(which he had come to believe, somewhat punningly, was one of the sausage-making details of political life America didn’t care about) that he began to have the cold chill in his body that meant “Man, you have made a huge mistake,” He sometimes thought he was so gutsy so that he could do things before catching up with that sick feeling.

If it were any other sort of picture, he could just turn on the hockey game, message his harem and get it back. Now, he thinks maybe he should have done that very thing. Gone balls-to-the-wall and claimed that sort of titillation kept his marriage lively. Debbie would have backed him up then, though her cheeks would still be pink when they met.She was big on not publicly judging the behavior of consenting adults, although in private he suspected her lines were much clearer and brighter. That made it all the harder to stumble through some bullshit about a rogue, Photoshopped dick shot in front of Debbie Wasserman Schultz, who was right up there, Tony figured, with the squeaky-cleanest people in the world. It was hard to say “shit” in front of her because she looked like everyone’s favorite second grade teacher, and the first time she called Boehner an “obstructionist fucker” the entire caucus roared with shocked laughter. Nobody said anything because they knew she’d been provoked.

Maybe it would have been a different evening if the cable hadn’t gone out in the second period of that hockey game…the picture would still have been out there, but maybe he’d have had less time to stew and panic instead of developing a story for himself. Instead his thought processes jangled until they settled on”Hackers!People on the internet are disgusting!” He knew there were viruses that sometimes left dirty little surprises for, maybe not innocent users, exactly, but certainly unsuspecting ones.”People on the internet are disgusting,” he told himself.

And there were people who enjoyed messing with a liberal congressman from New York, though it seemed that most of them were sort of stuck on filling his work e-mail with cheery missives like “Die, Jewboy pinko scumbag,” which were more revolting than sinister, and less heart-rending than the ones arguing for the “right” to throw pension money away on Goldline.”How is that not disgusting?” he heard his old friend ask in his thoughts.

He didn’t have an answer, except that if he got by with it, he was going to be a better man.That is the one part of all of his bargaining promises he is still able to keep, and he is getting there, bit by bit every day, and that eases the pangs of missing his old life. He need look no further than Bill Clinton to see respect regained, even enhanced, after scandal, but for now, he just has to grow, like his son, day by day.


End file.
